A Day in the Life of a Nobody
by li-flower
Summary: Oneshot. Wesley Gibson is a nobody going nowhere. Like all nobodies, he wants his life to be different, but wishes don't always come true. Maybe Wesley will be the lucky one. Just maybe. Rated for language and some subject matter.


**A/N:** The inspiration for this fic came from the realization that I'm kind of like Wesley Gibson before he becomes an assassin (supervillain in the comics). I wanted to depict Wesley as wanting to change things and not be a pushover but realizing he can't. It's hard to explain if you're not like that yourself (it's a personality/mental thing), but hopefully this one-shot gives a little insight. I don't know if Wesley is the daydreaming type, but that's how I endure. Regardless of the end result, the fic served its purpose as a cathartic release of the stress I've been experiencing. - Hana Li

**Disclaimer: **_Wanted _does not belong to me. Neither do the other movies and comics I allude to.

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A Day in the Life of a Nobody  
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The alarm screeches, dragging me out of a shoot-em-up fantasy in which I'm kicking major ass (1). It's 6 A.M., but I've been awake for an hour now. If the subway trains rattling the entire apartment complex hadn't kept me up, then Cathy's bitching about them definitely did. God, her voice sounds like teeth grinding against each other. She's so damn annoying I wonder why I haven't dumped her. The ungrateful whore is fucking my so-called best friend after all.

I don't because I know she's the best I'll ever have. Hot blonde babes like her don't go for pathetic social rejects like me unless they want somebody to walk all over. It's the same reason why Barry is friends with me and why I'm friends with the douchebag. At least with Cathy, I can pretend she's a tall, mysterious brunette with sultry eyes, a killer bod, and lips to die for when I'm fucking her (2).

It doesn't work with Barry because one, the thought of fucking him makes me want to vomit, and two, fantasizing will only get you yelled at by the only person with a more annoying voice and bitchier personality than Cathy, my anorexic boss Janice. She's the cherry on the pile of shit that is my job.

Today, when I arrive at work, Janice has another lecture to go with the mound of paperwork she has given me. Whoopee. "Well fuck me gently with a chainsaw (3). I thought I told you wanted those billing reports yesterday, Gibson. Either you're slower than a retarded turtle swimming through mud or you've been goofing off on the Internet again. Now I better not catch you screwing around. Understand?"

Of course, I nod and apologize even though her words have gone straight out the other ear. Anyway, it's hard to pay attention when the stapler's clicking right into my left ear. Sometimes I think about pulling an _Office Space_, but then I remember I don't really have any allies to make that feasible (4). Despite the fact that we all hate the stapler-snapping Nazi who eats donuts when she thinks we're not looking, nobody dares to stand up to Janice. We're all pathetic losers.

And I'm the worst because I let Janice give me twice as much work as, say, Barry. "No" is not part of my vocabulary whereas "I'm sorry" has become my trademark phrase. There's nothing I can do about it so I go back to typing my life away on my ergonomic keyboard. I pop one of my anti-anxiety pills. You know it's bad when you have a standing prescription and meds are the only way you can through your work day.

I would quit, but any other job I could get would be just as shitty. So much for the four-year education and the slip of parchment that were supposed to get me somewhere in life. I dream about the day, I get a call about a job offer that's worth taking. One that doesn't require me to sit at my desk for hours. Maybe somebody'll recruit me to a secret organization that is trying to save the world (or take it over). Yeah right.

Everybody here goes to lunch in small groups that remind me of the cliques at my high school. The rich preps, the athletic meatheads and their dumb girlfriends, the quiet geeks, the self-proclaimed nonconformists who couldn't be punk rockers, hippie artists, or whatever a goth's dream job may be (5). We may all dress alike now, but it's clear who was what in high school. I'm a nobody so I don't get invited to eat at the new bistro down the street—except by Barry, but that's only when he doesn't have any money. I pay for him as if he's my girlfriend, and he always orders the most expensive thing on the menu. Today I'll pass. "Sorry, but I'm not really hungry," I tell him. "I got something to eat when I went to Starbucks this morning."

That is a flat-out lie. I never go to Starbucks because my body will probably go into convulsions if I voluntarily put caffeine in it and I'm not willing to shell out that much money for some fancy-sounding coffee alternative. Barry is too self-absorbed to pay attention to my habits. "Okay dude," he replies, not fully concealing the glee. I pretty much just handed my girlfriend over and said, "Here, she'll give you a blow job." Aren't I good friend?

Bored out of my fucking mind, I decide to Google my name. I've done it before, and nothing came up. Zero, zip, nada. I'm so insignificant that my name wouldn't even bring up the definition of "loser". _Your search—__**Wesley Gibson**__—did not match any documents. _(6)

You would think that a completely ordinary name like mine would bring up somebody's personal webpage. Maybe every Wesley Gibson known to man is doomed to have a miserable life. Maybe God took a sadistic pleasure in seeing Wesley Gibsons squirm through their worthless existence like an ant frying under a magnifying glass.

I log off the Internet and stare at the dismal gray wall of my cubicle, imagining what life would be like if I had a different name. I don't know what it would be, but I would be Somebody (7). Perhaps I could be a billionaire playboy or a national hero (8). Money, women, power, fame—I'd have it all.

Only I don't, and I never will. Guys like me, who would be content with just having things be a little different, are the ones who stay trapped in their mundane lives as a drone. Life's a bitch that way.

At the end of the day, the most interesting thing I've done is go to the ATM to get a couple of twenties and refill my prescription at the pharmacy. On my way home, I get jostled around by people who are going somewhere in life.

I wonder if the reason my dad walked out was because he knew that his son was going to grow up to be a fucked-up pushover. My mom was a fool for not dumping me somewhere when I was a baby. It doesn't matter if she thought I had potential; she's dead now.

You know, I bet I'm a con artist's dream target because I would fall for their tricks every time. Even if I saw through them, I'd just let myself get deceived because I won't stand up for myself.

I physically can't do it. When I get yelled at or bombarded with demands, my heart speeds up and my ear drums feel like they're going explode. My vision blurs, and my head feels like it's going to split open. The only thing I can do is nothing because it takes every ounce of what little strength I have to keep myself from blacking out.

Maybe these are psychosomatic symptoms and I'm just too much of a pussy to do something about it. I'm such a coward that I don't have the balls to end my crappy life.

So I endure. I go to bed, wishing that I could give Janice, Barry, and Cathy a taste of their own medicine. That I would somehow meet a beautiful woman who would change my life and finally get the chance to make a name for myself. That I could be the person nobody dares to fuck with. I wish that I could do _something_. Be Somebody.

I wish that wishes could come true.

_FIN_

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1) This is one of many references to the events of the movie. I saw Wesley's transformation as an ordinary guy's fantasy coming true so I had him dreaming of being an expert assassin and everything else that happens.

2) Angelina Jolie is hot and a lot of people's fantasies so I had to include her.

3) This is a quote from the movie _Heathers_. I couldn't think of my own creative expletive and imagined Janice saying something like this.

4) I wonder if it's coincidence that Wesley Gibson and Peter Gibbons have similar last names.

5) I just wanted to say that I have nothing against any group of people. Stereotypes are dumb, and I hate how people feel like they need to stick to their own groups. I swear I'm not bitter...much.

6) I got this from Google. I'm not sure if they own the phrase, but better safe than sorry.

7) Yes, "Somebody" is purposely capitalized whereas "nobody" is not important enough to deserve it.

8) This is an indirect allusion to the comic, where the supervillains rule and Batman and Superman have faded into fiction.

**A/N 2:** Phew, that was more footnotes than usual, but Wesley's a complicated guy (and I felt the need to explain myself). The ending turned out to be weird, but this is Wesley before his life changes. Anyway, I'll admit to having some fun being crude and politically incorrect. I hope you enjoyed this change in writing style too. What the fuck have you done lately?


End file.
